


Not Exactly a Reassuring Model of Consent

by Calico



Category: Misfits
Genre: Dark Comedy, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 20:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is the-tattoo-made-them-do-it a trope yet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly a Reassuring Model of Consent

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Wax! :)

When Simon shoved him back and fled towards the door of the Community Centre, Nathan felt a stab of pain go through the beautiful, classy, love-affirming tattoo on his left shoulder. The pain might as well have been right through his heart.

"Simon," he yelped, scrambling up off the floor and hurrying after him. Now the tattoo was itching, and at the thought of Simon actually leaving the building a dull ache started emanating from deep within it. 

"Simon?" Nathan called again. " _Simon_! Don't go! Why would you do this to me?"

Simon picked up his pace, hunching his shoulders like a pissed-off cat. A gorgeous, lithe, orange-boilersuit-wearing _panther_ of a cat, with massive feline balls and a huge furry—

Nathan cut off that thought as even he realised it was getting a bit weird. He diverted all his energy from thinking into acting, and pelted across the floor of the Community Centre and onto his quarry with hitherto uncharted acrobatism.

"Aargh—!" Simon shouted, as Nathan knocked him to the floor just a few short strides from the door to the outside world. 

The tattoo immediately stopped aching, and Nathan exhaled a blissful sigh and tried to wrap his arms around Simon's legs. 

"Get off me," Simon growled, which was pretty fucking sexy, actually.

"Shh," Nathan said soothingly, crawling on top of him. Simon froze, going rigid beneath him - unfortunately not in the hot horny rigid erect sort of way that Nathan had been hoping for, but at least he'd stopped trying to leave. 

"There," Nathan cooed, dropping kisses on Simon's bunched-up shoulders and lovingly stroking his arm. "That's better, isn't it? You and me? You not leaving after all, me getting to hold you?"

"Nathan," Simon said, with the restrained patience of the deeply furious.

"Oh God, all right, _all right_ ," Nathan said. 

Nathan rose to his hands and knees over him, allowing Simon to turn over within the V of his thighs before he sat on him again. Then he swallowed, because seeing Simon under him like this was – fuck, it would require a superhuman effort to resist! He ducked down and tried to kiss him.

"What are you doing?" Simon growled, shoving him back with more violence than Nathan felt was strictly necessary, forcing him back to arms-reach by using some sort of death grip on Nathan's shoulders. Luckily, Nathan’s childhood back home had taught him all sorts of ways to escape a death grip, so he brought his hands up quickly and dislodged Simon's hold of him, and then – all in the same, smooth movement, using the momentum of Simon struggling – grabbed hold of Simon's wrists and pinned them to the floor above his head.

Simon's eyes went wide and panicked. "Stop, wait! Don't rape me!"

"I'm not going to rape you," Nathan said indignantly, sitting back. "I told you, we can just cuddle!"

"But if I try to leave you're going to rugby tackle me to the floor again," Simon pointed out. "That isn't exactly a reassuring model of consent."

"Well, yeah," Nathan said, and tugged his shirt off, twisting round to show Simon his tattoo. It was currently throbbing with a warm, lazy pleasure. "But that's because this will start stinging like a bastard fuck if we're parted—I can't bear it! But I'd never," he said, and dropped his voice, leaning forwards to look soulfully into Simon's eyes, “ _ever_ hurt you, you have to believe me." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "You're my one true love."

"I think you're possessed," Simon said seriously. "Please get off me."

Nathan pouted.

 

* * *

 

Simon looked nervously over his shoulder as Nathan cracked open another couple of beers. 

"I'm only staying because it's the Right Thing To Do," he warned, the capitals audible in his tone. "No... funny business."

"Yeah, yeah," Nathan said, beaming as he took a slurp from his can.

 

* * *

 

"No," Simon said, later. "No more beers."

They were lying on their fronts on Nathan's thin mattress, watching the tinny, painfully out-dated music videos that had come free with Simon's phone. Nathan would normally have mocked this course of action, except for how Simon's cheeks dimpled slightly when he relaxed, as if his face were flirting with the tiniest of smiles. 

"One more beer," Nathan countered.

"No. We shouldn't."

"Worried you'll give in to my charms?" Nathan said gleefully, rolling over to run his hands up and down his own chest, tugging his t-shirt up to give Simon a teasing flash of lower belly. 

"N-no," Simon said loudly; looking away, stricken. 

"If you say so."

Nathan used Simon's brief inattention to close the gap between them by one solitary inch.

"C'mon then, what else's on there? What about those videos you're always shooting - hey, there's _loads_ of me, aren't there? When I died, didn't it turn out you had loads of me? Let's watch one of _them_."

"I want to watch music videos," Simon said. 

Halfway into the next video, Nathan shifted.

Lying on his front, craning to see the phone's rubbish screen, it was impossible to get comfortable. His dick was aching, his tattoo was burning, his lips were getting chapped with how often he kept licking them; he was a mess, frankly, a beautiful fucking _mess_. The soft warm smell of Simon's skin was driving him crazy. He wanted to lick him all over! He wanted to nuzzle up the pale slant of Simon's neck and stick his tongue in his ear, see how he liked that. Oh, he'd probably _like_ that, just you see if he wouldn't...

Nathan shifted again, tilting his hips against the mattress so that his dick pressed hard against the sheets, then gave a tiny surprised exhale as a stab of pleasure went through him. Hello, sheets. He pressed again, beginning to nudge his hips. Ooh, fuck, that was more like it. The world was going a beautiful colour. Now to just imagine the impassive mattress was actually Simon's rock-hard stomach... Uhhh. Yeah. Fuck, yeah. Yeah, Simon, yeah, Simon, _Simon_ , _yeah_ —

"Are you trying to—do stuff, without me noticing?"

Nathan groaned and rolled away onto his back, his cock hot and hard, rounding out the front of his jeans. "What? What? What do you _expect_? You smell _amazing_ , Simon, I'm amazed people aren't spunking their loads all over you every time you waggle that rounded little arse of yours down the high street!"

Simon had a coughing fit. 

It was a cute coughing fit. Nathan took the opportunity to lean over and give Simon's shoulder blades a solicitous pat. 

Then... rub. 

Slower, and gentler, trailing his fingertips, brushing the back of that warm shaven neck...

Simon shoved his hand away. "Pl—please don't," he gasped, and Nathan couldn't tell if it was a gasp of repressed pleasure or some boring residual choking. He had to assume it was the former. "We had a deal."

"Okay, okay," Nathan said, sitting up. "Fine. No problem. My hands? Over here." He folded them back in his lap, and pressed the base of his palm firmly down on his aching cock. 

Simon turned back to his phone, a picture of pale determination. 

Nathan pressed a little harder. 

Kept his gaze fixed on the line of Simon's jaw, imagined nibbling it. He started rocking slightly, just nudging the bulk of his hand against the ridge of his cock, over and over. Just subtly, like. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to keep silent even as he rubbed harder, and then Simon licked _his_ lips and Nathan couldn't help a stifled little “ _Ooh_ ".

Damn. 

Simon had stiffened (still not in a good way) but wasn't looking at him. The angle of his jaw was bulging. Nathan quashed his desire to gnaw on it, and fished out the best excuse he had to hand. 

"Oh c'mon, this is torture," he protested. "You with your skin and your smell and your _muscular arms_ , which I just can't bear not to think about having wrapped around me..."

"That doesn't even make sense," Simon said weakly, still barely facing him. 

Nathan dropped to a wheedling tone. "What if I just have a wank? A nice quiet wank, get it out my system - you don't even have to watch!"

"Nathan—"

"...Although," Nathan added quickly, "if you wanted to drop your balls into my mouth at any moment during the process, let me have a good suck, you'd know that was okay, wouldn't you?" 

He couldn't help but lick his lips at the thought, as his hand sank back into his lap. "Or your beautiful cock," he breathed, dropping his gaze to the shadowy folds of Simon's jeans where he could so easily imagine a burgeoning bulge. "Oh God, your cock - you're welcome to slip it into any of my orifices, as long as they're wet enough to take it, you understand?" He waggled his eyebrows in case Simon didn't understand. "On second thoughts," he added breathlessly, "I'd sooner you bang me raw than not at all." 

Simon turned pink. "Let's not talk about this," he said.

"Why can't I talk about your cock?" Nathan demanded. "It occupies my every waking thought, after all."

Simon's mouth gaped a little bit open. After a moment, he visibly swallowed. "It does not." 

God, if Nathan could bottle that hoarse voice of his, he'd bathe in it every night, so he would. He'd rub it all over his naked body and writhe around in it like an eel in heat. He'd pour it into his palm and then have the world's best wank, sucking it off his fingers and—

"It does," he said, his own voice going hoarse. "Did you know your voice would make a very expensive and highly desirable massage oil?"

"What? No, scrap that," Simon interrupted himself. "I don't want to know." He scrubbed a hand over his face, resulting in slightly mussed-up hair around the forehead area. 

"Oh my God, Barry," Nathan declared. "You are so fucking _sexy_."

"I'm moving over here," Simon said, scrabbling backwards like a handsome crab, flailing a little as he lurched off the mattress and made for the back wall.

Nathan's tattoo gave a warning twinge. Nathan pouted. "Don't you go all the way over there! I'll behave, I promise. I'll shut up." He drew an imaginary zipper closed across his mouth, and nodded in assurance. Then, as an idea occurred to him, he unzipped it halfway again to add, out the corner of his mouth, "Or you could shut me up, you know." He pushed his tongue into his cheek a couple of times, and winked. 

"Nathan," Simon growled. The sound washed over Nathan in a fizzy warm tide of desire, and he pressed down hard on his cock again. Fuck, that felt amazing. 

"A blow job," he elaborated, slow and clear. The words made his dick strain. "Oh, fuck yeah. You can shut me up by forcing your dick down my throat, I would _love_ that." 

"You're under a spell," Simon said wretchedly, but there was an inkling of _something_ desperate in his voice that kindled a renewed spark in Nathan's optimism.

"Spell schmell," he declared, pushing up onto all fours and letting his hair fall in his eyes. "I know what I want." He grinned and started to advance, padding on his hands and knees towards his prey; Simon scrambled back, except there was a corner there so he wound up doing a sort of delightful horizontal flailing. 

Nathan wet his lips, the words coming easily: "I want you to fuck my mouth."

"I—no," Simon said quickly, "I can't," but Nathan had seen another flicker of something that _wasn't horror_ pass through those rounded eyes. 

He pounced on it, crawling closer. "Oh no, you most definitely can - and you like the idea, I can tell. Of course you do. You're a hot-blooded male, of course you want your dick worshipped by my tender yet highly experienced mouth. I'd be a whole lot better than that shape-shifter, that's for certain - I've sucked loads more cock than her. Well, probably not more than Alisha, but it wasn't Alisha at the controls, was it? It was your little freak friend, and there's no _way_ she knows her way round a cock better than I do. Yours was probably the first she'd ever seen!"

Simon had gone still. “What do you mean,” he said faintly, “you’ve sucked loads of cock? You’ve not—”

“I have.”

“But you’re—“

“So popular with the ladies?” Nathan supplied, sitting back on his heels and enjoying the height he had over Simon’s sprawled form. “That’s true of course, but even so there are some nights when not a single one of them will trouble herself to give me a blowjob, and at that point…” He shrugged, giving Simon a meaningful look. “You know what they say.” He dropped his gaze to Simon’s crotch, then back to his face.

Simon was staring at him as if he had no idea what he was talking about. It was adorable. “What do they say?”

“You know! The saying. If you want your cock sucked… sometimes you’ve got to suck cock.”

“I—I don’t think that’s a saying.” 

“Sure it is!”

Simon’s eyes were narrowed, and he swallowed before speaking. “But did you _like_ it?”

Nathan beamed at him. So concerned! So protective! So worried Nathan had put his tongue somewhere he hadn’t wanted it to be. “Of course I did,” Nathan said, waving his hand. “Why wouldn’t I? Hell,” he said proudly, “enough MDMA and you could have the biggest daddy bears in the club plundering me at both ends and I’d be loving every single second of it.” He noticed Simon’s stricken face, and hurried on: “But, I mean, don’t you worry - that’s all in the past. From now on, my body is yours.”

Simon looked as if that last image had hit him hard. “I—I wasn’t—“

Nathan tried to soothe him. “Yours and yours alone,” he said, making his voice soft. He lifted his hand to Simon’s face, brushed the back of his fingers down his cheek. “Forever, as long as we both shall—“

“This is ridiculous,” Simon said, but he didn’t duck away from his hand, and he was breathing rapidly. It was probably poorly-repressed passion, but Nathan did have the tiniest inkling that it might be panic. Maybe Simon was commitment-phobic. He didn’t like that thought at all.

He made his voice even more soothing. “Or not forever,” he tried, though it pained him to say it. “Not if you don’t want. Just while we’re young and good looking, with tight bodies and firm muscles and plump, pouty lips…”

"Shut up.”

“I mean,” Nathan said, dropping his voice and watching for Simon’s response, “you have noticed my plump, pouty lips, haven’t you?”

Simon’s gaze made an unwilling detour to his mouth. 

Making an effort not to grin, Nathan wet his lips with a slow suggestive swipe of the tip of his tongue. “I see you have,” he said.

“Nathan—“

“And these lips are just waiting to service you, tease you, explore every inch of your naked body.”

Simon looked like he might be having a stroke. “Shut up,” he grated out.

“Or you could shut me up instead,” Nathan agreed. "I mean, that's basically what I'm asking you to do.” He licked his lips again. "Shut me up. Just unzip, and get it out, and..." Oh, fuck, now they were both breathing shallow and fast, Nathan's head spinning with desire as he closed the distance between them and Simon _didn't push him back_. 

As if moving within a dream, Nathan reached down between Simon's thighs and groped for his cock.

"Nathan," Simon said, but it didn't sound horrified any more.

Nathan delved, finding a glorious warm handful of hard-on, all the more exciting for being a dirty little secret. "God," he said, squeezing it and sliding his other hand up Simon's arm, amazed at his own coordination but Jesus, maybe this was what being a pilot was like: multi-fucking-tasking. 

"N-nathan—" Simon's voice was like a rasp of velcro. "—for God's sake, stop."

Nathan gave a breathless laugh, pulling open Simon's jeans. "That's what they all say."

“ _Nathan_ ," Simon pleaded, but his cock was like a fantastic dildo in Nathan's grasp, big and moulded and unyielding. Nathan's mouth watered. The veins on it, the gleaming pink head... His hand started moving of its own accord.

"God," Simon gasped, pleasingly, "Nathan, you can't—you—you don't _want this_ ," clamping his hand down on Nathan's attempt to wank him to high heaven. Not so pleasing.

Nathan paused and blew a curl up out of his eyes, to better look at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? Name one thing I have ever wanted more, in my whole life, ever."

Simon was caught between a wince and some other expression – it seemed very likely to Nathan that it would be an ecstatic groan. "You're not in your right mind," he whispered.

Nathan leaned in to rub his cheek against Simon's face. "Say that again while you're kissing me." He sought out his mouth, half-expecting to be pushed cruelly away again—but Simon turned into it, he did, his stubble-rough jaw carding against some of Nathan's most sensitive nerve endings before the sudden shock of his lips, soft and damp and urgent.

 _Ugh,_ Nathan thought, as Simon kissed him back: a sensual pang lancing through his tattoo, straight to his balls. _That feels incredible. Beyond incredible. Like someone sucking my life out—through my dick._

Simon was muttering something like, “ _This is such a bad—_ "

"Barry," Nathan interrupted, "shut up," opening his mouth against Simon's, reaching with his tongue in tentative, eager jabs. He had no fucking clue what he was doing, when it came to kissing. Kissing master-classes were for girls. He'd always just put it down as a distraction from the main event, but this was different, this was like - like surfing on a wave of liquid pleasure! And it took two to tango, it most definitely did, and Simon was most definitely tangoing with him.

 _Bad idea? As if! He's fucking kissing the arse off me,_ Nathan thought, clamping his hand around Simon's cock and rocking it rhythmically, trying to convey his approval whilst his mouth was occupied. 

Simon stiffened - yes, in the hot horny way at last - and gasped something desperate-sounding against Nathan's mouth, and Nathan grinned and sucked his tongue, redoubling his efforts at making this the hand-job to end all hand-jobs. 

"Ah," Simon groaned, pushing against him, and Nathan's grin widened. Victory at last! He ducked, overcome with sudden greed, and steered Simon's cock into his mouth. 

Simon made a noise that was barely even human. 

Nathan tried to grin some more, but couldn't, because his mouth was too full. He hummed instead, trying to bob up and down and tease and taunt and suck and swallow all at once. God, it was glorious, Simon's cock filling his mouth, salty smooth and hard as anything.

He was aware that he was rocking his hips against the edge of the mattress, heat gathering in his balls. His own orgasm was approaching from the near distance, with the speed and subtlety of a drunken Belfast lorry driver. But he couldn’t think about that right now, because he had to devote his whole attention to venerating Simon’s cock: his own bodily functions could fuck right off. 

"Nathan, _God_ ," Simon blurted, stabbing forwards and almost choking him.

Nathan gave a hum of approval, but secured both hands around the base of Simon’s cock. That felt—less unpredictable. Not that he didn't _love_ unpredictable, he did, he absolutely fucking adored it, but there was also something very excellent about having both hands firmly wrapped around the shaft, whilst he lavished all his attention on the head. 

_You like that, don't you?_ he thought, licking around and around and around, until Simon was clawing at the floor, hips shuddering. _Yeah, you love it, you can't get enough._

"Nathan, please," Simon gasped, his hands sliding into Nathan's hair, and the heat behind Nathan’s balls went suddenly nova. He couldn’t cope with this, with Simon’s hands caressing him like a lover: it was too much. Nathan’s hand fumbled desperately into his shorts as his orgasm ploughed through his body, the heat enveloping him head-to-toe and then surging forth out of his cock. 

But he didn’t stop sucking; coming back to himself a few moments later, Nathan gave himself a mental high-five for that. Nathan prided himself on his blowjobs. Diverting just the smallest part of his attention to clamping his hand around his cock and encouraging out the last few perfect spurts, he kept the rest of his focus on the real prize, and as the heat faded to a comfortable warm throb in his tattoo, he started sucking harder again.

“God,” Simon was saying, over and over, practically a moan, “God. God.”

Nathan hummed again, letting Simon’s voice and shape and taste sear themselves into his mind for the future. The future in which they would hopefully be together, perhaps married and living in a bungalow, with a pet rabbit and a sex swing and a permanently-running chocolate fountain. Perhaps—

“God, stop,” he heard, and he winced around his mouthful, because he thought they were past that. He thought the protests were over. It was beginning to be sort of insulting.

“Nathan, please – stop.”

Nathan pulled off enough to give Simon an injured pout, still stroking him with both hands. “Stop saying that!”

Simon’s forehead was dewy with sweat, and his eyes were a glazed and stormy blue. “No,” he panted, “I mean, you need to stop because I—I'm going to come.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Nathan said, with renewed interest. “God, yes - go on then.”

He sucked just the head in and out of his mouth, as smooth and firm as he could co-ordinate, whilst his hands worked their magic on the rest of Simon's dick. He went for it as hard and fast as he could, staring adoringly up at Simon’s face, and then he made one last effort at taking him all the way in and that pushed Simon over, easy as anything, spilling into Nathan's mouth between one wet suck and the next.

In his excitement Nathan had forgotten all about breathing. He tried to swallow, spluttered, twisted sideways, and felt the last hot spurt of it streak across his jaw. 

"Oh god," Simon was gasping, "oh, god, oh, god. Fuck. Let me—" and he was wiping at Nathan's face with clumsy fingers. 

Nathan turned his head and kissed his fingertips before looking Simon in the eye and opening his mouth. 

He watched Simon watch Simon's fingers, sliding in, getting sucked. They tasted like the seaside, only more bitter, and God was it ever moreish. Walkers should make limited edition crisps from it, Spunk and Vinegar. Ready spunked. As long as it was Simon's, Nathan would scoff the whole range.

His gaze slid down Simon's glowing face to his pink, chewed lower lip, then slowly back up again. 

"I should go," Simon said, and if he hadn't been saying something so completely awful then Nathan would want to record that croaky voice and use it as his ringtone. Maybe his alarm. Maybe his text alert, and then at any point in the day he could be treated to a delicious earful. 

"Don't go," he said, letting Simon's fingers slip out of his mouth. 

"I really should.” Simon licked his lips, and his eyes half-closed. “But. Um. Okay."

"You can even have the pillow," Nathan said generously. "Have it all to yourself. I don't need it. I can pillow my head on my hands - I won't be sleeping anyway, not when I could be staring at you. Who needs sleep?"

"This is so weird and wrong," Simon said, lying down anyway. 

Nathan lay down alongside and beamed at him. "But you like it."

Simon covered his eyes with his hand. "I'm going to hell. For taking advantage."

"Oh, c'mon," Nathan protested. "It's no more morally worse than, say, having sex with me when I was really drunk or something. Except I'm a lot more coordinated."

Simon groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

"Look," Nathan said to the others, when the curse was lifted a few days later. "Can we, er, not tell Barry straight away?" 

 


End file.
